


Transposition

by unicornball



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Awkward Boners, Body Swap, Brief Sam/Cas (sorta? but not really), Dean Hates Witches, Destiel- Established relationship, Fluff, Grace-Aided Orgasm, Language, M/M, Male Slash, Rimming, Sam Ships It, Sam and Dean swap bodies, Smut, fucking witches man
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-08-28
Updated: 2014-08-28
Packaged: 2018-02-10 22:47:53
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 13,718
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2043186
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/unicornball/pseuds/unicornball
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <strong>A temporary witch's curse has the Winchester brothers swappin' bodies. It sucks, but they're handling it. As long as they keep their hands to themselves and Dean quit freakin' eyeing the damn scissors with that evil gleam in his eye...</strong>
  <br/><strong>Unfortunately for Sam, he discovers something about Dean and Cas.</strong>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Transposition

**Author's Note:**

> _Well, hello! Just a bit of silliness I wrote out for shits-n-giggles. As it says in the summary; this be a body swap story. And it's Destiel. Sam finds out Dean and Cas are getting it on, ya know—_ personally. _I dunno why I feel the need to pick on Sammy here but it felt right. He's cool with it all, just... momentarily disturbed 'cause of the whole "brother being bad-touched by an angel" thing._

Sam closes the motel room door, not even bothering to wait for Dean. He's pretty sure his brother needs a moment alone, anyway, and he's happy to let him take his time getting their bags from the trunk. He looks around, mouth pulled down slightly at the corners as he looks around the room. It's pretty like any other crappy motel room they've ever been in, but this one's mauve and taupe color scheme kinda sets it apart from most.

He eyes the carpet; at least it was clean enough he didn't think he'd have to worry about boiling his feet if he kicks off his shoes.

Well, _Dean's_ shoes.

Whatever.

He pauses in front of the gaudy mirror, ignoring the plastic flamingos dancing around the frame and stares at his reflection. He pokes at his face; it's weird to see Dean's face from this perspective. He turns his head a little to the left, then right, eyes roaming the familiar-yet-not face. He sighs, shoulders slumping. He'd _told_ Dean not to threaten that freakin' witch. (He's lost track of how many times he's told Dean that, actually.) They should just gank and go.

But _no_ _—_ Dean had to taunt her. Add in his cheesy one-liners interspersed with put-downs and verbal pokes. Dean did eventually go in for the kill, apparently growing bored of the game when the witch just glared, looking bored and unimpressed, and finally got on with it. But there was a long enough hesitation which led to powder being thrown in their faces, followed by quickly chanted Latin and then a freakin' Wicked Witch of the West-worthy cackle.

By the time the powder cleared enough they could see, the witch was no where in sight.

And then he'd been looking at _himself_. Talk about a mind-fuck. And kinda awkward, in all honesty. He'd had to look up at 'himself' _—_ just a little, but enough to completely throw him and make him want to panic and hit something (something Dean-shaped as usual, but that would be _him_ this time so he'd refrained). From the new perspective he realized he'd misbuttoned his flannel that day and his fly was down. He was too freaked out to think how surreal it was about the sort of weird shit a brain focuses on when on the verge of panic...

Dean had taken the revelation with his usual Winchester stoicism; he'd screamed like a little girl and took off in a sprint, waving his gun and yelling for that Elphaba-wanna-be bitch to get her green ass out there and change them back.

Of course, nothing of the sort happened and here they were. Wearing each other like some cheesy movie.

Or maybe a horror movie. The jury is still out on that...

He stares at his brother's face wearing _his_ scowl of annoyance. He shifts awkwardly, reminded that Dean wore completely different underwear than he did. How did his brother put up with the constricting feeling? (There's a tiny, fucked-up part of his brain that's relieved it's not freakin' lacy panties or something.) He doesn't adjust himself, though, because they made a promise to the other to keep their hands to themselves unless absolutely necessary (because _—weird_ ). He then promised that he'd leave Dean's ever-so-manly nails manicure free (how did he not notice his brother's habit of biting them?) if Dean quit freakin' eyeing the damn scissors (or anything sharp) with that evil gleam in his eye.

And not to tell anyone what happened.

It was temporary and neither of them saw a reason to freak anyone else out with the weirdness. He'd almost called Bobby, but Dean, the colossal jerk, had freaked out and slapped his cell phone out of his hand before he could even dial. After he scowled and retrieved his phone from the floor of the backseat, he'd calmed down and managed to find a book in the Impala's trunk that helped (not-so-subtly gloating and enjoying rubbing Dean's face in the fact that keeping books, as well as weapons, in the trunk was a good idea).

It worked out for the best anyway since he had no idea how he'd phrase the questions they had that wouldn't let Bobby know what was going on. Or ask awkward questions in return. Bobby ain't an idiot and he knows the older man would've been asking lots of things before he could think of a good lie. And he hates lying to Bobby, so not calling was just for the best over-all.

Sam looks around the room again, sighing softly as he flops into the rickety chair by the scarred wooden table in the 'eat in' kitchenette. He runs a hand through his hair, dropping his hand with an irritated huff when his fingers only encounter Dean's short hair instead of running his fingers through his beloved long, silky strands. He hasn't realized how much the habit soothes him when his knees start to bounce with agitation.

He stops the movement with a hand on his knee, tucks his hands in his arm pits so he won't play with his cuticles and forces himself to focus on anything but the oddity that is being in his brother's body. He can't, of course, and in seconds he's wiggling his knees and gnawing on the side of his thumb.

Near as they could figure, the hex is temporary and would be over by the new moon. They'd compared notes on the powder (both gagging when they found out what was in it) and the words chanted and found the answers easily enough. Dean was reading over his shoulder and they'd both exhaled with a loud "thank fuck" as they found the important part: they only had to endure being in the other's skin for a little over 36 hours.

True, they'd had to suffer through worse things, but this... This is a new level of fucked-up-ness—even for them.

Sam's fingers tap on his knees as he thinks. He gets up, needing to move, and looks out the window. He twitches the flimsy curtain aside, spying Dean leaning against the driver's door of the Impala, arms crossed and shoulders tucked in. It's weird to see Dean's pensive expression on his face. And even weirder to see Dean thinking so damn hard... He's tempted to go out there, see if Dean wants to talk. Or go get a beer. Or do _something_ besides pace around the too-pink motel room and watch his brother brood.

He doesn't, though. He knows Dean well enough to know he needs some alone time to process. And adding alcohol into the equation seems like a really bad idea.

Sam is just about to flop back into his chair when something crashes into him, making him stumble. His arms pinwheel twice before they're pinned to his sides by a strong force. Panic and surprise flair through him in hot dizzying spikes. He considers calling out for Dean—the walls are flimsy; his brother should hear him from outside, right?—but any sound he might've made is cut off. Muffled and swallowed by... a mouth? His eyes open and it takes longer than he'd like to admit to realize he's looking at Castiel. Cas is close enough he could probably count every single one of his damn eyelashes.

He blinks a few times, brain coming back on-line to the realization that he's being freakin' kissed—passionately, hungrily, and with enough force to mash his lips against his teeth. His squeak of shock is muffled when he's manhandled and moved easily until his back is pressed against the nearest wall. He's not sure how long he's acquainted with a Castiel shaped octopus, but it's disconcerting. A sudden armful (and, ah jeez, _mouthful_ ) of horny angel isn't something he's ever encountered before.

The pressure on his upper arms lessens and moves down his arms and he realizes those are Cas' hands. Before he can make use of the freedom, the hands stop at his hips, squeezing and pulling a little so he's closer to Castiel's body. Really _really_ close to Cas' body. The grip shifts so somehow Cas is able to squeeze at his hips and fondle his ass at the same time. He's manhandled some more, and—oh, god; he's pretty sure he's feeling something pressing against his hip... And a tongue pressing against his lips.

Sam's entire body goes stiff when there's a gravely-voice moan vibrating against his chest (and against his _mouth_ , for fuck's sake) and manly hands are bad-touching him. _Everywhere_.

He's stunned. Shocked immobile. Even though he really probably shouldn't be. It's not like he hadn't ever seen the way Dean and Cas behaved around each other—pretty much from the get-go, but more so the past year or so. Cas' more frequent visits. The standing too close, Dean not even bothering to chastise the angel about personal boundaries. The uncomfortable-for-everyone-else staring (or blatant eye-fucking, more accurately) was just the tip of the "oh my god, my brother's screwing an angel" ice-berg, apparently.

So yeah, he shouldn't be surprised to find out Cas ambushes Dean with groping and make-out sessions, but he honestly can say he never wanted to've found out _this way_.

It takes Castiel a few moments to register Dean's tense body and complete lack of participation. Very curious; he had thought Dean was over his self labeled 'big gay freak out' months ago. Their encounters recently held no hesitation and Dean's full enjoyment and participation. He eases away from the Hunter, their lips making a pleasant wet sound as they separate.

He frowns slightly when Dean makes no glib comment about it. There's no warm smile (or even a pleased smirk). The blush and averted eyes are also a little worrisome. He looks toward the door for only a moment, he's sure that Sam is outside and in no danger of catching them. He looks back at Dean, growing more confused the longer Dean avoids looking at him. When Dean raises a hand to wipe at slightly-plumper lips, removing saliva left there, instead of just licking as usual, he's concerned.

"Dean?"

Sam looks at Castiel's concerned expression, lost for words and panicking on the inside like a whore in church. He and Dean had promised not to tell anyone about the Freaky Friday thing, but he's damn sure Dean hadn't considered _this_ —Castiel; his angelic lover poppin' by for some afternoon delight—when he'd brought it up, the big fuckin' jerk.

And that leaves Sam in a hell of a pickle. Break his promise to Dean and spill everything to the now squinting angel. Or go along with _this_ and hope he doesn't fuck things up between Dean and Castiel. He so doesn't want to touch Cas anymore than he has. He's not exactly opposed to some man-on-man action or anything but this is _Cas_ , Dean's angel and therefore a total no-no zone. Dean got pissy with him when he borrowed his mouthwash or gun oil, for fuck's sake...

He idly wonders if guys can use the headache excuse to get out of sex. He'd probably be the first, ever, to attempt it.

Sam groans softly, wanting to cover his face with his hands and just... scream or cry or something. Oh god. He's so totally gonna ream Dean (ugh, _ew_ ) for not telling him about the whole 'secretly screwing Cas' thing. He probably still would've been taken by surprise, but at least he'd have a little forewarning. He's irritated enough about the whole mess that he doesn't immediately notice Castiel is gently cupping his (uh, _Dean's_ ) face in his hands, thumbs gently stroking his borrowed, freckled cheeks as too blue eyes try to laser into his brain.

He's too shocked to react, keeping himself stiff and not at all tempted to relax into the touch. He's almost too distracted, wondering how the hell Dean stands being looked at _like that_ all the time, to think the gentle caress is weird; totally in-congruent to what he (thinks) he knows about Dean. And Cas. Especially Dean _and_ Cas, together _together_. Not that he's imagined it, but he totally didn't think they'd be all mushy and shit like this.

He knows he's freaking Cas out but he has no clue what to do next _—_ what to even freakin' say. He glances at Cas through his lashes, mouth pulling down in a slight frown and his brows furrowing as he thinks. Castiel's hands tighten against his cheeks before they drop from his face and the angel takes two steps back. Sam nearly falls forward with the sudden movement, surprised to realize he'd been practically held up by the angel.

He's momentarily relieved at the return of personal space. _Until_ he sees the angel's expression. He audibly gulps, suddenly very sure that's the look people who got freakin' smited (or is it smote, he wonders inanely) saw right before they stopped existing. He unconsciously presses closer to the wall, hands splayed out behind himself, even though he knows he shouldn't; he should probably move closer, try to reengage or reassure Cas, but he _can't_. That's a look he wants to keep away from, not move closer to.

Sam clears his throat, relieved he sounds somewhat normal when he says "Cas?"

Castiel's head cocks slightly as his eyes narrow. He studies the man across from him, suddenly wary. Anger slowly trickles in as he studies, notices, and catalogs. A little bit of fear comes along, as well. "You aren't Dean."

He studies the man that _looks like_ Dean, noticing more differences that are obvious now that he's looking. Dean is standing all wrong, even without the fearful posture, it's just... off. His facial expressions aren't... right. And the whole 'not trying to reciprocate sex' aspect is very wrong. He's trying to think of explanations; what sorts of creatures and beings can mimic his human? He can't think of many, but he's already sorting through what he knows for solutions and possible weapons.

Sam swallows down a hysterical laugh. That lump of terror is back in his throat and he's trying to swallow it down again, too tense to do much of anything else. He doesn't say anything, doesn't nod or in any way answer Cas' non-question. He blinks and rears back when Cas' previously warm blue eyes go steely—hard and smite-worthy.

Well, shit.

A flick of Cas' wrist and suddenly there's a blade inches from his neck and he feels really fucking stupid he'd forgotten Castiel is a fucking warrior. He knows better. He's heard about what sort of blood its seen. He's even seen the angel use that very blade with deadly precision, numerous times.

Not to mention the fact that Cas, current vengeful Angel of the Lord is ridiculously— _profoundly_ —bound to his brother.

Really, he shouldn't have expected any other reaction from the fierce angel.

"Cas," Sam starts, hands rising imploringly. He really doesn't want what's glinting brightly in Cas' hand imbedded in his person or anywhere near his throat. "It's me—Dean."

He realizes that's the wrong thing to say as soon as he's slammed against the wall, a tan trench coat covered arm slamming across his neck, against his wind-pipe. He makes a choking sound, and wheezes in a breath but doesn't otherwise fight back. He wouldn't be able to do a damn thing, anyway. It feels like he's being pinned by a brick wall or something.

Castiel has a moment of guilt for harming Dean—before he remembers this is Not Dean. He wishes pinning Dean against the wall (normally a very enjoyable activity) isn't happening _,_ not like this. He's feeling sick with all of the conflicting emotions and he applies a bit more weight and pressure to his forearm. He feels terrible to see Dean's green eyes widen in fear and panic. But he forcefully reminds himself: This. Is. Not. Dean.

"Do not lie to me," he demands in a low growl, leaning in and gazing intently into Not Dean's eyes. All he sees—all he _feels_ —is Dean, though. It's very confusing but he doesn't relent, trusting his instincts screaming 'wrong! Not Dean!' at him. Even pinned, Dean would be trying to touch him, talk to him and let him know things were OK. Or at least fight back, call him an asshole or something for being paranoid. But that doesn't happen and he has to stamp down the urge to increase the pressure again.

Sam tries to swallow, the arm against his throat almost making it nearly impossible and quite painful. "Cas—" He's cut off when Cas growls, the angel's top lip actually lifting up with the feral sound, and applies more pressure, choking him completely this time. He's pretty sure his feet leave the tacky carpet as he sputters and tries to pry the arm away from him, but Cas doesn't budge at all. It's like trying to budge concrete. Tiny, multicolored pin-pricks of light dance across his eyes and he's starting to really panic.

"Who. Are. You?" Castiel grits out, thumping the body against the wall with each word. He's so close to backing away, dropping the imposture and fly off to find the real Dean _—his Dean—_ because it's becoming increasingly difficult to look into those pained, watery and red-rimmed green eyes. He eases up when he realizes 'Dean' is trying to speak.

"Sam! It's me, Sam!" he yells as best he can with his abused throat, so over the cloak and dagger shit. A promise to his brother doesn't trump being choked or smote by a freakin' pissed off, suspicious angel. The pressure against his chest and throat eases off enough for him to breath as Cas looks at him, reluctant and wary, but still intense and scrutinizing. He knows the angel will do anything for his brother and hopefully, right now, that includes listening and halting homicidal rage.

Dean will understand him blabbing. And if not, fuck him; he's never had to face being murdered by a righteously pissed off angel defending his beloved lover.

Castiel leans closer, once again studying Dean. He eases away when there's a flinch, watching the familiar gestures of the younger Winchester as 'Dean' straightens himself out in slow, deliberate increments. There isn't a curtain of hair but he's still being looked at as if there was one shielding cautious green eyes. Dean rubs his hands together nervously, shifting in place, hands half-stuffed into his pockets and giving him a look reminiscent of young Labrador offspring.

It's very disorienting to see Dean performing Sam's mannerisms.

Castiel flushes, stepping back and suddenly embarrassed. "Sam, I'm very sorry." He pauses, trying to figure out if he's sorry for the initial attempt at sex or nearly choking the man. Both seem appropriate things to apologize for. "For... attacking you," he adds, averting his gaze to the strangely colored carpet when he feels his face getting warmer with guilt as well as embarrassment.

Sam nods, sighing quietly with relief that Cas believes him. He rubs at his throat and gives Cas a small smile when the angel finally looks at him, lips pinched and his body language practically dripping with quilt. "It's fine, Cas. You didn't know. And, hey, no permanent damage." He holds his arms up and out to the side, showing that he's relatively unharmed. His arms flop down carelessly and he sighs softly, rolling his eyes when Cas still looks at him with a pained, guilty sort of look. "I get it, okay?" He chuckles, rubbing at his throat and chest, and shakes his head a little. "It's actually reassuring to know you would lay an epic smack-down for Dean."

Which, he knows Cas would've done before, but he can only imagine the carnage that would happen now, no doubt motivated by whatever the hell they've got goin' on.

"Yes, I most definitely would," Castiel agrees solemnly, nodding once. He makes his way over to one of the beds, gaze on Sam as he does. He slowly sits, feeling curiously light-headed and in need of a moment to let his body return to its relatively relaxed state; the past few minutes have left him shaken for a multitude of reasons. It's extremely odd to see Dean's body fidgeting and pacing like Sam is wont to do. He looks away, suddenly saddened for more reasons than just a missed opportunity for an intimate moment with Dean.

He watches as Dean—no, _Sam_ —paces some more, hands twitching upwards occasionally and pushing away hair that isn't there. Finally, he cannot contain his curiosity. "What happened?"

Sam knows exactly what Cas is asking about but he doesn't have many answers. "Witch," he says simply, his face screwed up in a grimace and raising a hand as one shoulder lifts in a shrug. Thankfully, further explanation isn't needed and he relaxes a little more.

"Ah," Castiel says, nodding once. Dean hates witches and he can understand why. He wishes this was an issue he could help with, mostly just for the Winchesters' comfort, but he's had little success with interfering with witches' magic. He nervously tugs at the sleeve of his trench coat, unable to meet Sam's eyes for a few moments. He slowly looks up, nodding meaningfully at Sam, "Is it... permanent?" he asks hesitantly, unsure if he really wants an answer.

Of course he does want an answer; he'd like to know. He's quite sure he'd be able to adjust to Dean being in Sam's body if it is indeed permanent. It's nearly as esthetically pleasing as the one he's used to (if a bit... bigger). It doesn't really matter to him, though; Dean is Dean, regardless of his physical trappings. He would be quite the hypocrite if he developed an issue about such a thing since Dean had been able to overcome the same issue with his vessel.

He averts his gaze to his lap for a few moments, trying not to stare as he usually would when speaking with Dean; he has a feeling that would make Sam even more uncomfortable.

"No," Sam is quick to answer, hands waving around. "No, we're pretty sure it's temporary." He can see Cas relax, shoulders sagging just a little under the trench coat, but he's pretty sure Cas would've made things work if things weren't reversible. He forcefully pushes the idea of Cas getting it on with Dean in his body out of his mind. So not the time for that... "Near as we can figure, the next New Moon we'll swap back."

Castiel nods, relieved nonetheless. That's 34 and a half hours away. He looks at Sam thoughtfully, something occurring to him. "Were you both really going to try keeping this from me?" he asks. He's confused why Sam didn't explain the situation the moment he'd kissed him. He would not have gone further than the initial kiss in greeting if he had known he wasn't with Dean. They would've avoided the violence, as well. His brow furrows, suddenly concerned he's guilty of adultery now. Does that sort of thing count when one thinks he's kissing his beloved and not someone else in his body?

"Yeah," Sam admits with a sheepish shrug. He feels his face heat and looks away, wishing he'd said something the moment Cas cornered him and started making out with him. "We weren't gonna tell _any_ one." He looks up at Cas, an apologetic look on his face. "I don't think Dean thought that far ahead," he offers, sounding a little hopeful on Cas' behalf that his brother truly hadn't considered the angel in all this. "Oh. And by the way? This is so not the way I wanted to find out about you two." He expects Cas to blush or maybe offer an apology, but instead the angel just shrugs, affecting a casual air as if it's no big thing.

He's kinda annoyed Dean is rubbing off on the angel, especially when it comes to being a smart ass.

Castiel shrugs, even though he's feeling the slightly uncomfortable, heated sting of guilt again. "Dean wished to keep things between us 'on the down low'—" He crooks his fingers, mouth twisted slightly in a wry smile, "Until things... settled."

Sam scoffs. "The way our lives go, that wouldn't ever freakin' happen." He feels bad when Cas' shoulders hunch and the angel looks away again, trying to look unaffected and picking at a ball of fuzz on the cheap comforter. He knows Dean can be a persuasive bastard and he can tell that works even on Cas, at least when it comes to this sort of thing (but props to his brother for managing to manipulate an angel of the lord, though). He knows this is all Dean, Cas only going along with his brother's wishes. The dick. He frowns, unsure why Cas would agree to something like that; surely the angel isn't OK with essentially being treated like a dirty little secret?

He's tempted to punch his thigh so Dean has a nice bruise to remember him by. He sighs when he notices Cas staring at him again, eyes slightly wide, hands flat on the bed and his fingers splayed out on the comforter. He's not able to figure out the angel's expression other than Cas waiting for his reaction... "It's cool, Cas. I'm not mad or anything. Or really all that surprised," Sam adds with a small smile.

OK, yeah, he'd feel better if he hadn't first hand knowledge that his brother gets inappropriately touched by an angel but other than that, he's not all that shocked. Or bothered. He's actually kinda proud of Dean for manning up enough to admit to his more-than-just-friends feelings for Cas. Even if it was only to himself and the angel. Baby-steps and all that jazz.

Sam settles onto the bed next to Cas, far enough away to give them both some personal space but close enough he doesn't make Cas feel awkward (if possible). He still feels like an ass when he pulls his hands in his lap when Cas reaches for one. He's trying his damnedest to ignore the kicked puppy expression Cas has going on now. He's _this close_ to caving in and just letting Cas hold his damn hand if it'll get that look off his face. It's not really that big a deal, right? It's only hand-holding...

Instead, he clears his throat and forces a calm he's not really feeling. "So, how long?"

"About a year now," Castiel admits, gaze firmly on his fingers splayed out on the motel's bedding once again. He presses his fingertips into the comforter, trying to ignore the tingling sensation, the urge to fit his fingers between Dean's, but he accepts Sam's polite refusal. He sneaks a quick look at Sam, feeling uncertain and horribly ashamed. Like he's lied to the younger Winchester (which, he feels he has; even if only by omission). However, Sam doesn't look too upset. He's a little confused but relieved nonetheless that Sam doesn't feel left out or betrayed by not being told sooner.

He returns this gaze to the comforter, tracing the strange pattern with his index finger. Now that he's telling Sam, he feels it's important to be completely honest, even if Dean might be upset or Sam uncomfortable. He clears his throat softly, "We've been intimate for only about half that time, however."

Sam just nods, not really wanting to get into the details. But he's a little pissed at Dean for being such an ass if he made Cas wait almost a _year_. (He knows a year is nothing for the angel, but it's the principle of the thing.) Of course, he had noticed Dean's habit of chasing anything with a pretty smile and boobs had pretty much stopped about a year ago, so he really should've known. Dean did still flirt with any and everyone—especially 'on the job' when it helped get information—but Dean would probably have to be dead to not flirt, though. So maybe he wouldn't make too big a deal about it since Cas hadn't ever gone into a jealous rage that he could remember.

He could only imagine the sort of stupid macho-bullshit Dean put himself through when he realized he was into Cas. Maybe he could cut his emotionally idiotic brother some slack on this one... He really didn't think his brother would believe him it wasn't that big a surprise he got with a guy; Sam himself had seen his brother eye more than one guy when out and doing this FBI, questioning the witnesses thing. And the less said about his obsession with Dr. Sexy (and the ridiculous cowboy boots) the better.

"Are you alright with this, Sam?" Castiel asks quietly, not exactly comfortable with Sam's prolong silence. For the most part, he doesn't care what people think; most are wrong about homosexuality, anyway. But Sam is different; Sam is Dean's brother, his only true family and he's well aware of how highly Dean regards the younger man, no matter their mottled history. He's hoping Sam will bless their relationship instead of condemn it. Or at least, not offer resistance and demand they stop. He knows Dean would if Sam asked it of him... He would as well, of course, but he can't help hoping it won't come to that.

Sam's brow crinkles with confusion, lips pulling down at the corners a little. "Yeah, of course, Cas. I'd be blind not to notice how into each other you guys are," he offers, playfully nudging Cas' shoulder with his. Cas looks relieved but still wary. He's tempted to be a total immature jerk and start making moon eyes and singing cheesy love songs, but Cas looks freaked out enough without adding in Winchester-brand shenanigans right now. He should probably tell Cas he's happy they're in love and all that crap, but he really doesn't want to go there right now. He settles for a friendly shoulder squeeze, which seems to relax Cas further. "Seriously, man. It's fine. I'm happy for you guys. I just wish either of you had told me sooner. I woulda been alright with it."

"I know, Sam. I told Dean as much," Castiel murmurs. "I'm quite certain his issue is not with you."

Sam can only nod, having already figured that part out.

"Well, not entirely with you," Castiel amends, feeling a little uncomfortable. "He does worry about you and how you'd react. I think he worried you'd feel... left out. Or envious."

Sam shakes his head a little, smiling sadly. Sure, he's not exactly thrilled to be a third wheel, but there's no way he'd begrudge his brother (or Cas) this. "Nah, I'm really okay with it." He doesn't know if Cas is as adverse to 'chick flick' moments, but he figures one of them should hear it. He nearly sighs, having to abandon his earlier 'keeping it to himself' plan because it looks like Cas _needs_ to hear it. He can do this; he can man up and do the 'chick' stuff. "I'm just happy Dean's happy," he says earnestly. Cas puffs up, small smile quirking his lips and looking pleased with himself. "You... He _is_ happy, right?"

He watches as Cas considers the question like it's one of life's greatest mysteries. Hell, for Cas is probably is. He sits quietly and lets Cas think.

"As happy as he can be," Castiel answers carefully after a few moments of consideration. The life the Winchester brothers lead doesn't leave room for many happy moments, but they manage to make moments of happiness when alone together. He knows Dean would not appreciate telling his brother about their intimate times, but he can honestly say they've managed some very good moments. "I take care of him, Sam," he offers honestly. "I will always do so."

Sam nods, feeling a little uncomfortable at Cas' intensity but overall pleased at the angel's sincerity. Dean doesn't walk around whistling or grinning like an insufferable douche that just got laid but he had noticed his brother looked less like he carried the world on his shoulders and slept more than 4 hours a night. He claps Cas on the shoulder again. "Thanks, Cas." Before he can as if _Cas_ is happy, too (maybe offer to smack Dean around if he's not being good to the angel), the door swings open and slams into the wall behind it, a wild eyed 'Sam' nearly blocking the doorway.

Dean bursts in the room, face twisted in a look of panic. Oh god—Cas and him... are both looking at... him. He sees Cas sitting next to himself and his gaze flicks to Sam. He feels hot and prickly all over, a little nauseated as well, and swallows thickly. This can't be good. Shit.

ShitShit _Shit_.

He _knew_ he'd been forgetting something when they were hashing out the whole body switching... thing. Son of a bitch. Cas just sits there, hands on his knees as he looks at him, his expression calm and guileless. He's wondering what's missing from that blue-blue gaze until he remembers. Right. He's wearing Sam's body like some bad movie plot. Cas doesn't give sex-eyes to Sam. (And thank fuck for that or he'd probably seriously consider fratricide... which would really suck because he'd actively tried to _keep_ Sam alive since... ever.)

"Cas," he says slowly, closing the door behind himself when he realizes he's been standing in the opened doorway, staring like a super-tall weirdo. "Uh, Dean," he adds, feeling all kinds of awkward and wrong.

So many kinds of wrong.

Castiel smiles despite himself. 'Sam' is standing in a way that's all uncomfortable Dean; body tense, arms crossed over his chest, shoulders slightly hunched and avoiding eye contact. It's oddly reassuring. He shifts closer to Dean on the bed, purely on instinct, and he can't quite quell the curious irritation when there's no counter move from Dean like there usually would be.

Right. Not Dean. His Dean is across the room in Sam's slightly hunched over body and looking like he's wishing for the gift of spontaneous self teleportation.

The atmosphere in the room is tense, all three men just staring at each other in turns.

Dean knows Cas has to know whats going on by now, but he can't bring himself to open his mouth and say something _—anything—_ about it. What the hell can he say? He doesn't want to know how Cas figured it out and he figures Sammy would appreciate little to no reminders as well.

"So. Dean."

Dean and Cas turn towards Sam, startled out of their staring contest by his voice. The fucker sounds amused, much to Dean's annoyance. Dean rubs at the back of his neck, only partially aware of Cas' barely-there warm smile. He sighs softly, gaze flicking to Cas for a moment. Just long enough to see his angel nod subtly and offer a small, but encouraging smile. His shoulders relax but he's not exactly relieved. God, this shit is fucked up.

"Yeah. So. Uh. We're sort of a... thing..." Dean mutters, wagging his finger between Cas and himself and giving a half shrug. He shoots Cas an apologetic look, sorry as hell he's minimized their relationship to _a thing_ , but extremely uncomfortable with talking about it. Especially with Sam.

Because— _awkward_. So not gonna fucking happen.

Dean scowls when Sam has the nerve—the gigantic fucking nerve—to give him the kicked puppy eyes with his _own damn face_. Seriously? That's freakin' low... " _What_?" he grumbles, looking away from the surprisingly effective cartoon princess eyes his brother is working. Huh. He should ask for pointers because even Cas is fidgeting under that look. OK; maybe that would come in handy...

Sam huffs and flops backwards onto the bed. He laces his fingers over his stomach, staring at the ceiling since it beat looking at Dean's constipated expression or Cas' panicked-but-trying-to-look-like-a-stoic-angel one. He's quiet for a few moments, gathering his thoughts, before he turns his head enough to look at Dean again. His brother doesn't look constipated any more, just tense. Like he's waiting for some verbal assault. "Why didn't you say anything before?"

Dean fidgets, shifting his shoulders and rubbing his face, as he tries to find something to stare at that doesn't include Cas or Sam in his periphery. They both look curious and he really wishes he had a good answer. Cas hadn't ever pushed once Dean said 'no' that first time Cas mentioned it, the angel offering no complaint or judgement and just going along with his wishes to keep their _thing_ to themselves. He knows it was a dick move, but it seemed like the best option at the time.

Partially, he had a superstitious fear that telling Sam would strain things between the three of them. And, honestly, avoiding things that might fuck up things with Cas was higher on his list than keeping Sam in the loop. Otherwise, he just didn't want to get too comfortable and let things slip while they were out. They spent too much damn time in small towns for him to forget himself and let Cas (or himself, he had his moments, too, if he's being honest) get handsy.

Castiel stands up and steps towards Dean, gently wrapping a hand around the other man's bicep. It's a bit bigger than he's used to but he doesn't think telling Dean that will be a good idea. He knows Dean doesn't like to be touched in front of others, but it's not an intimate touch and he figures the point is moot at this point since the feline has escaped its sack.

Dean's aggrieved scowl, even on Sam's features, is reassuring and he can't help smiling up at Dean. He doesn't lean in for a kiss though, regardless of how much he wants to. He does lean into Dean a little, mostly just to offer his comfort and support. Dean's very adept at reading his silent cues and he offers a small smile of encouragement when Dean side-eyes him.

"'Cause," Dean says with a sigh. He rubs a hand over his head, sucking his teeth when his fingers tangle in Sam's girly mop. "And I'm not using your froo froo hair shit." He's hoping the subject change will work. Sam gives him a bitch-face (which is _hilarious_ with his face) but doesn't comment; he just sits there, arms crossed, face all pissy and waiting expectantly. "I didn't wanna jinx it, okay?" He looks at Cas and grits his teeth at the sappy ass look he's getting. It's annoying only because he can't _do_ anything about it wearing Sam's gigantor self. "I didn't want to you hate me, either."

Sam blinks, arms flopping down. "Dean," he says slowly. Softly. His brother looks away, gaze locking with Cas for a long moment before his jaw clenches and he aims his glare down at the mauve carpet. "Dude, I would've been fine about it." He nods when Dean side-eyes him, looking skeptical. "Okay, it woulda taken a couple minutes for me to get with the idea, _in practice_ , you guys were defiling the motel room when I wasn't around _—_ "

"We make love, Sam. We do not defile each other or our surroundings," Castiel puts in, brows pinched together a little with slight irritation and chastisement.

Sam and Dean make the same groaning sound, face-palming simultaneously. It would be hilarious if they both weren't completely freaked.

" _Cas_ ," Dean mutters, leaning close enough to slide a hand along Cas' lower back. He wants to be annoyed Cas just says shit like that, but he can't be. He feels like a gigantic _girl_ (fitting he's wearing Sammy—heh) when he feels all warm and fluttery instead. He's a huge freakin' sap but Cas is giving him that gummy, nose crinkling, eye squishing smile and he sighs softly in resignation.

Sam watches the pair, only slightly uncomfortable with the intimate display. It almost feels _too_ intimate to be watching, but it's not something he hasn't actually seen before (except Dean actually touching Cas—that's new.) Neither of them are making any moves to get some privacy, so maybe it's no biggie. "Hey!" he shouts, no longer feeling warm and squishy for his brother and the angel when he sees Dean's ( _his_ ) hand disappear under Cas' trench coat. "No," he says sternly, finger raised like he's scolding a dog, when Dean finally manages to quit staring at Cas and looks at him. He's tempted to smack Dean's nose to drive the point home.

"C'mon, Sammy!" Dean whines. He removes his hand from Cas' ass though, because Sam definitely has a point. "You didn't say I couldn't fool around with your body."

Sam scowls at Dean, caught between incredulity and annoyance that he would even _have_ to say something like that in the first place. He kicks out a foot, catching Dean in the shin. He smirks when Dean yelps, hopping on one foot and grabbing his no-doubt throbbing shin. " _No_ , Dean. I don't think Cas would appreciate it."

"I have no _—_ " Castiel starts but abruptly closes his mouth when both Winchesters turn wide eyes on him. Sam looks uncomfortable and Dean... Well, Dean looks hurt and a little pissed off as well as surprised. A combination that never sits well with him. "I have no interest in Sam sexually, Dean," he says softly, assuming that's the cause for Dean's reaction. He smiles a little when Dean visibly relaxes a little, looking mollified. "But we will refrain if it makes Sam uncomfortable."

Dean huffs, annoyed. He kicks out at Sam, barking a victorious laugh when he nails Sam right on the shin, nearly the same spot Sam got him. Asshole with his freakin' boots. He hasn't Cas all freakin' week, and now it's looking like a no-go on anything besides watching Star Trek marathon together. Fuckin' Sam with his 'no, Dean; don't bang your boyfriend in my body'. Which, yeah; OK _—_ it was kinda creepy when he put it that way, but he's getting desperate here.

Fuckin' witches, man.

The next 13 hours are boring.

And a little awkward.

There's not much else to do but watch TV. It takes some maneuvering of Sam's Godzilla-sized body and limbs to get comfortable on the bed so they can watch TV. Dean tries to talk Cas out of his habitual plaster-himself-to-Dean's-side-whenever-possible thing but with no success whatsoever. Cas just stares him down, flopping down next to him and scootching closer with a challenging look in his eye.

Dean knows he can't really argue against it; the main reason he'd usually say 'no' would be so Sam wouldn't walk in on them. Sam knows now and he's got no damn good reason to wriggle away. Apparently, him feeling completely chick-a-fied by being caught out snuggling (and enjoying it) by his moose of a brother no longer concerns Cas. And Cas has already said he doesn't care about which body he's fondling (which, he's still getting over that little nugget of information, honestly).

He settles down with a heavy put-upon sigh, allowing Cas to manhandle him into position. It takes a bit more maneuvering than usual as he adjusts to the curve-ball of Sam's gigantor limbs, though, but Cas is determined. He keeps the contented sigh to be pressed up again Cas' solid warmth to himself; he really can't handle _two_ 'told you so' looks because he knows Sam and Cas will both give him the same damn look if they catch him enjoying himself.

"Sammy," Dean mutters, kicking at Sam's leg. His brother grunts in acknowledgement, blindly lashing out and nearly catching him in the face with his hand. "Go get food."

Sam's face creases up with annoyance and he turns his head to look at Dean, ready to argue. At the very least, they should freakin' shoot for it. But he snaps his mouth closed when he looks at Dean and takes in just how cozy his brother looks. He's using Cas like an angel-sized body pillow. Cas is propped up against the headboard, in a way that would be awkward for any mortal with a spine, a hand in Dean's hair and his eyes closed. He makes a face, mostly because it's expected, and works on getting himself out of his comfortable position on his own bed.

He steps into his shoes. He looks down, realizing he's in _his_ shoes and they don't fit right. He rolls his eyes and toes them back off to retrieve Dean's from under the bed. He perches on the end of the bed, tying his shoes and only half-paying attention to the movie now. He's going to miss it, so his interest in it has waned. "The usual?" he asks, shrugging into the appropriate jacket.

"Yeah," Dean says with a careless shrug. He jostles Cas for his order but the angel just goes back to rubbing his scalp and the back of his neck and he nearly purrs, a warm sense of happy pleasure shooting down his body. "Don't forget the pie, Sammy!" he hollers just as his brother disappears out the door. He knows Sam heard him because he hears his brother scoff and mutter something under his breath before shuffling out of earshot. He untangles himself from Cas, missing the warmth almost immediately. He props himself up on his elbow, looking at Cas for a moment.

Castiel feels Dean's gaze on him but gives his Hunter a chance to gather his thoughts. He's learned keeping quiet tends to loosen Dean's tongue the easiest. When there's something on his mind, Dean can't handle the quiet very well these days. A hand strokes up his chest and he slowly opens his eyes, smiling warmly. He places his hand on top of Dean's, only absently noting the size difference. It doesn't discourage Dean from sliding his hand out from under his and back across his chest, though. "Do not encourage me, Dean."

"I am irresistible," Dean agrees absently but still smirking, his gaze lowering to watch Cas' nipple peak as he palms it through white cotton. With Sam's man-paws. Ugh. He jerks his hand away, annoyed he'd momentarily forgotten that tiny detail. He goes back to Cas-watching, content to look his fill since his angel's eyes have slipped closed again. He idly strokes along Cas' tie, playing with the end and letting the silky strip of material slide through his fingers. "How long can you stay?" he asks quietly.

Castiel opens his eyes again, cupping Dean's neck, regardless of it being Sam's at the moment. "I have no immediate plans."

"Yeah?" Dean asks, smiling. He's smiling like a big ass dork, he can tell because his cheeks are aching with it. But Cas is staying, for an indefinite length of time. He's rudely reminded of being in Sam, again, when he goes to kiss Cas and hair falls into his mouth and eyes. What the hell, man. That shit has to be annoying. Maybe that's why Sam didn't get laid all that often. He snickers to himself and flops back down to resume his previous spot on Cas.

He eyes the angel's hand laying splayed out on his chest and slowly lets his hand slide up Cas' thigh and stomach to slot their fingers together. Sam isn't here, so no one has to know they're holding hands. He settles back, not even caring they're watching predictable re-runs of CSI. Thankfully, he hears Baby's engine in time and untangles himself from Cas before Sam busts in on their happy-couple moment. Moments later, Sam eases into the room, headed right for the dinky table, dropping two paper bags onto it.

Dean hops up, rubbing his hands together, practically drooling at the smell of grease, beacon-y meat and cheese coming from the bag. Out of habit, Dean hoards the burgers (giving Cas one with a wink that makes the angel blush like usual) while Sam grabs his salad from the other bag and they settle down to their respective meals.

He's nearly done his second burger when he pauses, burger half-way to his mouth as he stares across the table in horror.

"Sam!"

Sam startles, dropping his loaded fork with a hoarse shout of surprise. He clutches at his chest, the outburst completely unexpected and honestly sharing the shit out him. He looks around but there's nothing wrong that he can see, especially since Dean or Cas haven't moved from their seats to deal with a threat. He glares at Dean, fishing his fork out of his salad. " _What?_ "

"You— You're—" Dean sputters, fingers going lax and dropping his burger onto the grease mottled foil. "You're feeding me _salad_ ," he chokes out, pointing at Sam accusingly and feeling horrified. And a little violated. He ignores the fact that Sam and Cas both look at him like he's crazy.

"Dean," Sam sighs, rolling his eyes, and going back to his salad. "One day of green things won't kill you."

Dean scoffs and resists the urge to slap the fork out of Sam's hand before he can shovel more green shit into _his_ body. The asshole. "It might."

"Do you hear me throwing an epic bitch fit because you're scarfing down _two_ bacon cheeseburgers. And a milkshake. _And_ freakin' fries?" Sam demands, propping his elbow on the table and leaning forward as he glares Dean down. Sure, Cas is sharing some of it—but still.

Dean eyes Sam's super-mega-bitch-face twisting up _his_ features before glancing down at his mostly eaten _second_ burger. He scowls. OK, so Sam has a point... And he even remembered to get pie this time. He kinda feels like a dick now... He softly huffs out a breath, looking up at Sam sheepishly as he rubs at the back of his neck. "Sorry, Sammy."

Sam considers flipping Dean off for a moment but he doesn't. He actually got a 'sorry' out of his brother, so he just nods in acceptance and goes back to his salad. And if he exaggerates his enjoyment of the leafy greens a little, Dean doesn't say a freakin' word about it.

Going to bed later that night is awkward as fuck.

Cas strips down until he's bare-assed and starts folding his clothes, as is his usual habit when sleeping with Dean. Dean nearly smiles at the memory of the first time Cas crawled into bed next to him, fully dressed. He stares appreciatively as Cas' ass, slowly licking his bottom lip as he watches the lithe thighs shift and muscled butt cheeks flex and bounce with every move Cas makes. Cas has an awesome ass. His fingers twitch with the urge to grab and pinch.

Then he remembers... He's wearing Sam. And there's no way he's touching Cas' awesome ass with Sam-hands.

He also remembers Sam is in the room with them. He turns his head, scowl immediately on his face when he catches Sam staring. "Hey!"

"Huh?" Sam blinks a few times, trying to process the fact that there's a very naked angel, calmly folding his tie and tucking it neatly into his pants pocket, feet away from him. He registers Dean's glare and feels his face heat up. He hadn't meant to _look_ , but he hadn't expected Cas to just drop trou and strip, either. Excuse him for being stunned stupid at the naked angel. "I— Sorry," he mumbles, averting his eyes just before Cas can turn around and flash him an NC-17 rated, full frontal view. He can see Cas looking between him and Dean in his periphery and he prays Cas is moments away from stepping into pajamas, or at lease a fresh pair of underwear for the night.

Castiel glances between the brothers. He's already used to Dean being in Sam's body and doesn't even glance twice at the blush staining Sam's cheeks. He would like to look more thoroughly, he does so enjoy the way the pinkness highlights Dean's freckles. He steps around Dean and slides between the bed sheets, scootching over to the far side as is their habit. Dean doesn't care what side he sleeps on—just as long as he's closest to the door. He's tried to assure Dean he didn't need to do such a thing, pointing out he's quite capable of watching over them all. He had even forced the issue and made Dean sleep on the other side. Neither had slept that night and he's learned his lesson.

When Dean doesn't move to join him, he looks up at him curiously. "Dean?" He folds back the bedding on the other side of the bed and pats the mattress invitingly. He's tempted to make the face that usually has Dean tearing his clothes off and pouncing on him like an amorous animal (or an overgrown child). But he doesn't, respecting Sam's boundaries. His brows furrow when the Winchesters share a look, twin expressions of unease on their faces. Both are standing stiffly and looking everywhere but at the two beds. "Are you coming to bed?"

"Uh," Dean mumbles, fighting the urge to fidget. He stuffs his giant Sam-hands into his jeans pockets and tries not to look at Cas. Because, dammit, he's all tucked in and ready to go. Naked. "I dunno, Cas."

Castiel's forehead creases with confusion. "Why not? Are you not tired?" he asks, checking the time. It's after midnight; unless working late on a case, they'd be in bed by now.

"Yeah," Dean says softly, rubbing a hand over his face. "I'm just—C'mon, man. This is _weird_." Cas has the good sense to look a little bothered, but not enough to make him feel better about this whole fucked up thing. Cas just gives him that borderline-dirty, inviting look he's perfected when propped up on pillows (and gloriously naked). Who the hell can resist that? He sighs. "Okay, fine. But no hanky panky, okay?" he adds, pointing a finger at Cas to emphasize his point.

Castiel nods seriously. "I know, Dean. I'll try to control myself."

Dean is _this close_ to snarking back at the mouthy angel when he realizes Cas is being completely serious. Thankfully, Sammy closes himself off in the bathroom muttering something about 'teeth' and he takes that as his cue to jump onto the bed, crawling up until he's hovering over Cas, caging the angel's body with his. It's a weird fit with Sam's gigantor limbs, but whatever. He's hoping to intimidate the angel but Cas just looks delighted. The ass. "Seriously, is this shit doin' something for you?" he asks quietly, adjusting his weight so he can wave a hand in the vague direction of Sam's body.

"No. Not the way you think, Dean." Castiel wriggles down into the sheets, laying on his back and getting comfortable, enjoying the warm press of Dean around him. "Even if you do happen to look like Sam at the moment..." he trails off. He purses his lips a little, looking up at Dean thoughtfully. "Sam is attractive, but it's you I'm drawn to."

Dean blinks, feeling a curious heated prickle behind his eyes. "Goddammit, Cas. You know how to sweet-talk a boy," he murmurs and chances a quick kiss. Before Cas can start manhandling him and sliding those hands all over Sam's no-no spots, he leans back up. He knows he's not completely out of reach, but Cas'll have to work for it and he can roll away.

And dammit, the fact that he's even _thinking_ of rolling away from Cas has him slow breathing through a stab of a panicky sort of irritation. It's just all sorts of wrong and really freakin' unfair. Son of a bitching witches.

"Seriously, though. No morning fun and do not grab me in the middle of the night," Dean says lowly, mostly so Sam won't hear through the motel's thin bathroom door, giving Cas a stern look. Cas nods obediently, miming the scout's honor salute. He'd point out that Cas' wasn't a scout, but he appreciates the effort.

His angel has a habit of making good use of the many times he pops wood while he's sleeping. Mostly he doesn't give a shit; he always wake up at some point and he gets to enjoy whatever Cas is doing with his hands (or mouth). And since Cas seems to be the only one not having problems touching Sam's dick, he figures it needs to be said. Out loud. And agreed upon.

Dean sighs softly and climbs off the bed and gets to work undressing for bed. He's gotten into the habit of naked sleeping as well because he's lost so many underwear to Cas' angel mojo or getting them stuffed between motel blankets and sheets (forgotten and left there when they leave). He keeps Sammy's old man boxers on, though, and slides in next to Cas. The angel turns his head and considers him for a few moments.

"Can I—?" Castiel scoots closer. Dean doesn't protest so he continues to work his way over, pressing against Dean's side and settling into his customary spot. Sam is just as warm as Dean and he sighs softly as the body-heat seeps into his own. He carefully shifts until he's able to wrap an arm around Dean's waist, his leg bending just enough to be comfortable but not enough to have his groin touching Dean. "Is this alright?" he asks in a whisper.

He can understand Dean's reluctance to have sex, to be intimate while their bodies are switched, but he hopes Dean isn't going to refuse the simple pleasure of sleeping close together. He likes to 'cuddle' and he knows Dean does as well, even if he doesn't admit it aloud. He's become accustomed to going into a meditative state, Dean's reassuring presence beside him, warm and solid.

"Yeah," Dean says softly, gathering Cas closer. He doesn't want to say no, Sam-body or not, because he tends to sleep better with Cas nearby. It isn't as weird since both of them aren't naked. He feels Cas exhale in his usual quiet Lamaze-like pattern he does just before he goes to 'sleep' and he subtly snuggles in closer, nuzzling Cas' temple and extending his lips out into a sort-of kiss.

By the time Sam comes out, Dean is dead to the world, snoring softly with his face smooshed in Cas' hair. And he knows Cas is pretty much out for the count for the next 5 hours. He sorta hates that Cas always had to wait for him to fall asleep before he joined Dean on the nights he was able to (and he believed Cas' adamant promise that they only cuddled and did not engage in 'carnal pleasures' while he was in the room, asleep). He takes a moment to watch them. It's kinda sweet, even if it is a little awkward.

Normally he wouldn't care to see his brother cuddling (because he so totally is, even if he won't use the word) up to an angel. Nope. But that's _his_ body pressed all up on Cas' and it's still kinda weird. He crawls into his own bed, turns on his side so his back is to Dean and Cas, and is out before he even realizes he's fallen asleep.

.*.

The next day is a little easier. Dean is almost used to Sam's gawky limbs and Sam is mostly used to Dean's body. He's still adjusting to his brother's body going haywire at the oddest provocation, though. Now that he's not in constant freak-out mode about the whole we're-wearing-each-other thing, he's noticed he's reacting to Cas.

Like, _automatically_. Without any input from his big brain, his little one is doing its own thing. Frequently and with gusto.

It's disconcerting to say the least.

But it's not _just_ Cas. Oh no. That would make things a bit easier and completely fuck up the Winchester if-I-didn't-have-bad-luck-I'd-have-no-luck streak he's been rocking for nearly 30 years. He's reasonably sure he could've handled the Cas thing (should've expected it, really, knowing they were together _together_ ), and any image that could possibly be considered suggestive was a given. It's the random TV commercials that makes him wonder about Dean's pervert level. He doesn't know whether to laugh or commit his brother when a commercial for Sara Lee makes his borrowed dick twitch a little in his jeans.

He can't help staring at his lap. It's really freakin' weird. He's no stranger to sudden, awkward boners (comes with being a guy with a functioning dick, really), but this? This is just... No, thanks. He's so over this whole thing and wants it to be _done_.

Sam jumps, feeling like he's been caught doing something other than just channel surfing, when Cas pops in right next to him. He looks up and blinks when Cas steps into his personal bubble and reaches out for him. They remember, at the same time it seems, that he's not Dean and Cas doesn't need to be breathing his air and two seconds away from doing who-knows-what. Cas steps back two steps and inclines his head in greeting instead of probably giving him a hello-fondling.

"Hey, Cas," Sam says, ignoring the awkwardness and putting his attention back on the TV; it's easier than seeing Cas face do that puppy dog-esque, missing his Dean look. "What's up?"

Castiel looks around the room, surprised he's arrived before Dean. It's only a 10 minute drive and he'd walked, needing the air and getting away from the temptation that came with time alone with Dean. Especially alone in the Impala. "Dean went to look a few things up, research, and I had a few spare moments to help." He looks around the room again; he knows Dean isn't there but he can't imagine where else the Hunter would be. He settles on the bed next to Sam, mindful to keep a respectable, comfortable distance. His fingers drum against his knee and he's trying not to fidget. "Is Dean back?"

"Nope," Sam says offhandedly, distracted by a cooking show. His belly rumbles and he pats it absently, wishing his culinary skills extended past grilled cheese and ramen noodles. He ignores Cas' twitching, already used to the angel's human-like habits by now. He's not sure if it's from the brushes with being human or hanging around them so damn much that's affected Cas. But it's almost soothing and vastly preferable to when Cas used to just _be there_ , standing still and statue like; it was unnerving.

Before Castiel can get truly worried, Dean slams into the room. The door bounces off the wall before Dean jumps forward to catch it and closes it again. He nearly opens to his mouth to ask if Dean is OK when he realizes the Hunter is smiling. Nearly ear to ear. And chuckling occasionally. Dean's amused smile warms for a moment when their eyes meet and he smiles back out of reflex, even if it's Sam's face smiling at him. "Dean."

"Hey, Cas." Dean feels a subdued flutter work through him, annoyed at Sam's body for a moment it's not the squirmy-hot-awesome thing he normally feels, when Cas stands up and practically struts over towards him. He nearly grabs the angel by that damn tie to lay a juicy one on him, but remembers in time not to. He's not sure he can handle any more of Sam's prissy hand-slapping and finger-wagging. He plays with the tie instead, letting it slip through his fingers a few times in a familiar habit. "Guess what?"

Castiel takes in the practically sparkling eyes and excited flush on Dean's cheeks. It takes quite a bit of effort not to get further into Dean's personal space and feel the heated skin against his lips. He just makes a humming sound, nodding slightly and indicating Dean should share.

Sam's brows scrunch up. Normally he's relieved (and happy) to see Dean looking all happy and dopey. But something tells him he's really not going to like the 'why' behind it this time. Dean looks giddy but in a decidedly evil way. He eyes Dean warily, "What?"

"Sam's turned on by books," Dean crows to Cas, pointing at Sam with glee. He goes back into a laughing fit. The one he got kicked out of the library for when he couldn't contain himself when he got an honest to god stiffy from _a book_ —in Latin. Once he got over the complete awkwardness of popping a boner in a library, over a freakin' book, he'd broken down into immature giggles. The sorta-hot librarian shushing him only made the problem worse, though. He nearly snorted with the effort of holding in his laugh. And then he got excited all over again when the sorta-hot librarian gave him a stern look over her reading glasses, so score one for Sam being kinda normal—even if she did have all her clothes on.

Sam glares at his brother, unamused. He might enjoy the library a bit more than other people, but he has good memories associated with them (and nearly all center around Jess and sneaking off into the nearly-deserted Ancient French Poetry section). He can't remember ever being excited from a damn book, though. It figures it would happen the one time Dean volunteers to go to the library, alone, and is riding around in his body. Dean's snickering again, leaning into a slightly confused Cas, and he scowls at his hyena-like brother. "At least I don't get sexually aroused by pastry."

"So?" Dean shrugs carelessly. He can feel Cas' amusement and he's _this close_ to mentally scarring Sam (some more) with tales of how much Cas likes pie, too. Usually off his ass or something kinky like that (his awesome, freaky little angel). "I like pie, that ain't no secret."

"Dean," Sam says shortly, getting up from his seat. "It's not—I don't get turned on by _books_ , you dick."

Dean snorts. "Felt like it, Sammy. An honest-to-god nerdgasm," he says, spreading his hands out wide and nearly gigging (no— _manly chuckling_ ) again. He smothers the next batch of laughs when Sam aims an epic bitch face at him. He holds his hands up when Sam looks 2 seconds away from hitting him. "Sorry. It just... surprised me."

"Tell me about it," Sam mutters, memories of the awkward soap opera hour coming back. He really hadn't wanted to know that Dean's fan-boying extended to actually lusting after Dr. Sexy. Well, at least it isn't just pie and Hooter's commercials...

Oh. And Cas.

Cas is the worst so far. He can't be alone in the same room with the angel without reacting. It's kinda sweet, in a pervy-Dean sort of way, but mostly just awkward as fuck.

They all settle down and watch TV, slightly tense but trying not to show it, and barely paying attention. Each of them surreptitiously checking the time and mentally counting down until this can be _over._

.*.

Dean does the most awkwardly adorable twirl in front of Castiel and he hasn't the capacity to not laugh. He manages to stop and blinks innocently when Dean pauses, mid-spin, to glare at him. "Yes, Dean?"

"Don't gimme that innocent angel-face shit," Dean says through a huff, aiming a finger at Cas in warning. "I'm just checking the merchandise, alright? I got no idea what Sammy was doing with this thing," he says, patting his hands down his body. So far, nothing weird beyond some freaky 'man-scaping' Sam hadn't been able to help himself on. At least the plucked moose didn't touch his manly eyebrows... He's annoyed enough with Cas at the moment, he kinda hopes the angel pouts when he sees his chest hair nearly gone. It'll serve the snickering little bastard right.

Castiel eyes Dean, critically and appreciatively. "I see no damage," he says after a brief scrutiny. He steps closer and gently tugs at the hem of Dean's t-shirt, pleased when the other man raises his arms obediently so he can remove it for a more thorough examination. He frowns. "I stand corrected." He reaches out and strokes along Dean's nearly-hairless chest,right down the crease of muscle. Dean isn't overly furred but he'd come to enjoy the smattering of chest hair his Hunter has.

_Had._

It's gone now and he's suddenly irritated with Sam. He looks down at his wrist to see Dean holding him. He looks up and his frown deepens when he sees the smirk on Dean's face. It's then he realizes he'd been about to leave, maybe to find Sam and give him a few choice words, and he's annoyed all over again. He pulls his hand free and crosses them over his chest. "It's not funny, Dean."

"I think it's a little funny." Dean grins, hoping to get Cas to calm down. He pulls Cas closer, smiling when there's no resistance and Cas is just a hair away from being plastered along his front. He noses along Cas' jaw, up his cheek, until they're practically Eskimo kissing. "It'll grow back," he murmurs, cupping the back of Cas' neck. "C'mon, I'm me again. Let's get physical, Cas," he says, grinning. He doesn't wait for a response and just pulls his unresisting angel in for a kiss. They both moan, like it's been forever and they're kissing hot and dirty in seconds.

Jesus, it's barely been two days...

Castiel pulls away just long enough to stare mournfully at Dean's smooth chest, only slightly mollified that his perky nipples are highlighted a little more now, before getting busy getting Dean's jeans off. He's normally very pleased when they go slow and sweet (not at all surprised Dean is very adept at it when he's of a mood), but he's anxious to get his hands on Dean. It has been exceedingly frustrating to spend the last 34 hours with him, not being able to touch and love like normal because of the body situation. He understood Dean's hesitance to 'fool around' while in another body, especially that of his brother's, and he had respected his wishes without a second thought. But now there's no reason for him to be held back.

And he doesn't. Sam is gone, researching (though, Castiel is convinced the younger Winchester was very aware of what would happen the moment they switched back and left simply to give them privacy) so there are no other obstacles.

Dean can't help moaning when Cas forcefully strips him, nearly tearing his clothes off like some romance novel cliché. He'd think Cas mojo'd him naked if it weren't for the feeling of hands touching and pulling, sliding and stroking, cupping and grabbing whatever naked skin Cas could get his hands on. Before Cas can push him towards the bed (or maybe the wall if he's feeling especially frisky), he yanks at Cas' shirt. Sometimes it's flattering as fuck that Cas gets so into him the angel forgets to get naked along with him. Right now, though, he's just impatient for them to be naked together.

The need to be skin-on-skin almost makes his hands shake.

He laughs when Cas slaps his hands away with an impatient grunt and just yanks, tearing the fabric and letting it fall to the carpet. OK, so they're doing the fast and hard. He's shoved, almost harshly, and he's a little disoriented as he lands with a bounce on the mattress. Cas is quick to straddle him and he's being attacked with hands and lips and tongue and teeth.

Which is cool. He goes with it, getting in on the action as soon as he can get his hands out from under Cas' knees. Cas pulls back, looking kinda wild-eyed, hair a complete mess and his face all flushed. God, it's so fucking hot he moans out loud. He scowls when Cas smirks and scoots down his body. He props himself up on his elbows, a second away from cursing Cas out for being a cocky tease, when his jeans are being yanked off.

Oh. Right.

Dean plants his feet and lifts his hips, almost laughing again when Cas yanks and tugs until his jeans slide down his body, taking his underwear along for the ride since neither of them thought to unbutton them first. He huffs out a laugh when Cas just carelessly tosses the whole mess of fabric over his shoulder, eyes wide and intent on his exposed dick as he crawls back up the bed, hands trailing up his legs and thighs.

He's panting a little now, but it's cool because so is Cas. Cas is still only staring though, his hands idly rubbing up and down his thighs as his gaze flicks all over him. Studying and cataloging. He's tempted to get Cas to snap out of his moment, back to the wild monkey-sex, but he's got an idea what's going through Cas' mind right now and he doesn't want to interrupt his angel's thoughts. He doesn't bother trying to stifle the moans as Cas' hands dip lower and fingertips stroke along his inner thigh, brushing along the dusting of hair there, almost tickling.

Castiel hums softly when he feels Dean's legs part automatically for him. He knows they should resume their earlier pace, they're both edging on desperation, but he's inexplicably feeling the need to verify that his Dean is back. He brushes his fingertips along the sensitive spot under Dean's navel, following the trail of hair he adores, smiling when his Hunter's breath catches and he hears a quiet moan. Dean twists with another moan when he does the same thing along his sides, his fingers tracing the contours of ribs and hard muscle, fingertips sensitive to the texture of scar tissue.

"Missed you," he murmurs under his breath, running a hand along Dean's flank, enjoying the way Dean lifts his leg and presses a calf against his hip. He can see Dean's Adam's apple bob and he knows Dean heard him and is trying to think of something to say in return. Probably weighing his options between something endearingly sarcastic or heart-felt. He smiles and continues touching, making sure there aren't any other new developments to surprise him. He tests another sensitive area—the dip right under Dean's hipbones—with his lips, pleased when Dean makes a breathy sound and twitches upwards.

"Me, too, Cas," Dean finally mumbles back. Even if it had only been less than 2 days, it had been at least a week since he'd seen Cas before that. It's almost embarrassing how fast he's turned on, completely hard and making soft little noises every time Cas touches, strokes or fondles a part of him. All over. Except his leaking dick, which is laying lonely and abandoned on his stomach.

He goes easily, maybe even a little eagerly, when Cas urges him to roll over and starts the whole thing over again; touching his back, kneading his ass (way too briefly, the teasing little shit) and down his legs. Cas' fingers linger just long enough on the sensitive skin at the backs of his knees to make him kick a foot out. If he weren't ready to fuck a hole in the mattress, he might've wished he'd gotten Cas with a well-placed foot. He might have to start a 'no tickling' rule.

"What the hell are you doin', man?"

Castiel ignores Dean's muffled words, mostly because it's quite obvious what he's doing, and resumes his task, hands following the gentle bow of strong legs. He's not so much checking anymore, but just enjoying touching Dean and seeing the other man's reactions. He brushes his fingers along the back of Dean's knee again and laughs when Dean's leg jerks again, much closer to kicking him this time. He also ignores Dean's muttered 'asshole' and works his way back up. Dean's squirming a little, trying not to and failing, and he figures it's time to stop being a tease. He taps the back of Dean's thigh, grinning when he hears Dean's breath hitch as he bends his knee up, settling it under his chest.

He doesn't dawdle, as Dean is no doubt expecting, and he's stroking a generously lubed finger along the cleft of Dean's ass the moment the other man settles.

"A-fucking-men for mojo," Dean mumbles into his pillow when he feels Cas slip and slide between his ass. He aims a grin over his shoulder when Cas taps at one of his ass cheeks with the pads of all four fingers, probably for being a smart-mouth. If Cas doesn't want him to blaspheme about mojo'd lube, he shouldn't freakin' do it. He settles back down, enjoying the firm wet press of Cas' fingers against (and in) him.

He subtly presses into the sensation of lips on the small of his back, hissing through his teeth with pleasure when it earns him gentle biting kisses and Cas' free hand kneading at his ass cheek. He squirms at the feeling of Cas' stubble rasping against him, so close to arching into Cas' face for more. He groans appreciatively, burying his face into his pillow and clenching the sides in his fists, when Cas doesn't fuck around and gets two fingers in. He doesn't know if it's the fact his body is so accustomed to Cas or if there's some Grace involved but it feels amazing and he's squirming again, wishing Cas would get to it already.

The faint smell of pineapples hits him and Dean groans, burying his face further into his pillow as his hips arch up almost involuntarily. Flavored lube, Cas' favorite no less, means only one thing. His thoughts stutter and finally blank completely when he can feel the light rasp of stubble against his cheeks as Cas finally works a tongue in along his fingers. He should probably roll over, grab at Cas so they could both get something out of this, but he's already too into the toe-curling pleasure as Cas tongues at him, fingers pumping, sliding in and out with a slick, wet sound that's too fucking erotic for his own good.

He presses back against Cas, unable to help himself, as Cas really gets into it; both fingers and mouth working at him while the other hand kneads at his ass or slides along his hip and side, fingernails lightly scraping along his skin in random patterns. He gets a happy little humming moan from Cas for his efforts and he lets himself get into a rhythm. He can only hope Cas is doing something for himself because he's completely useless for anything other than making porno sounds and thrusting against Cas and he's gonna be a fucking puddle by the time Cas is done with him.

Castiel hums softly, enjoying himself and Dean's gasped moans and restless hips. He shifts and settles on the bed, unashamedly rutting against the mattress as he continues. As much as he knows Dean would prefer something more reciprocal (as if he didn't completely enjoy himself getting Dean off), he's happy to stay as they are. Judging by the way Dean's breathing is hitching with gasps and gulps as he tries not to moan too enthusiastically (or loudly) and his hips are eagerly moving in time with his movements, it won't be much longer.

He gathers his Grace, easing it around Dean's steadily leaking erection gently, stroking and squeezing in the way he's learned Dean enjoys most. He nearly grins when Dean makes a glorious sounds of delectation, moaning loudly now as muscles flex gorgeously as he writhes openly, shamelessly, now. He adjusts himself, needing a bit more friction as he continues his ministrations. He's already so close and the rhythmic clenching (and the near constant mumbling of praise and profanity from Dean's mouth) lets him know Dean is as well.

A twitch of Castiel's Grace and his fingers and there's the euphonious orgasm from Dean, body tight and sheened with sweat as he grunts and pants through his pleasure. He'd rather watch it in its entirety but his eyes involuntarily squinch closed as he circles his hips one last time preceding his own orgasm.

Dean flops onto his stomach, leg twitching from where its still crammed under his chest, but he doesn't care. There can't be any bones in there to worry about. He laughs weakly when Cas nuzzles the back of his thigh but he's too puddle-like to push him away from his oversensitive skin or call him a sappy dork. Thankfully, Cas turns his head enough the contact is less prickly and lightly kisses one still twitching thigh. He's vaguely aware of Cas shifting around and gently easing his bent leg to a more natural position.

"Feel better?" he murmurs when he can finally engage his voice in something that's not filthy sex sounds, head flopping to the side to look at Cas. Which he probably shouldn't have done because Cas looks like a completely debauched wet-dream with his hair all wild, cheeks and chest all flushed, and his face all fucked-out and happy. He goes willingly enough when Cas man-handles him and wraps around him like some angelic octopus.

Castiel hums and he settles against Dean's side, tucking his leg carefully between Dean's. "Yes. Much better. Thank you." He's a little surprised Dean asked but he probably shouldn't be; Dean had been just as eager for the 'reconnect' as he. He smiles when Dean snickers and flops weakly in an attempt to get the blankets. He untangles himself from a protesting Dean long enough to work them up and over their cooling bodies.

They both startle when there's a loud banging on the door.

Sam's voice drifts through the wood. "Uh. Guys? I'm gonna, uhm, get my own room. Okay?"

Dean snickers again, burying his face in Cas' neck so Sam doesn't hear him. Normally, he'd openly laugh at his little brother but he doesn't want to piss on Sam's gesture. He clears his throat and lifts his head up enough to be heard so he doesn't have to move. "Awesome! Thanks, Sammy!"

Sam stomps off, muttering under his breath but smiling a little bit, too. He's hoping there's a vacant room as far away from Dean's as possible. He forgot how loud his brother can be.


End file.
